


Not a Common Man

by atmmmmm



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Gay Rights, Homophobic Language, I'm sorry these two trash bags deserve each other, Internalized Homophobia, It's enough, Lemon Demon, M/M, Murder, Musical References, Some Humor, Weird Plot Shit, alright here's some spoilers:, fatphobia, in which case, it's implied but not the main ship, it's kinda pat/jean???, let me just have my boyfs who struggle with mental illness, okay it's mild but like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmmmmm/pseuds/atmmmmm
Summary: Patrick Bateman: Wall Street investment banker who's a yuppie just like all the rest of his peers, only plagued with mental illness diagnoses and terrible thoughts. Perhaps he even acted on them. No one truly cared to listen to him, let alone believe him. He's just only been known as a dork, a geek, and the boy next door. He's a dime a dozen, but with such a large population living on Earth, that would imply he's quite common. But Patrick Bateman is not a common man. He's finally able to learn what it takes to truly stick out, but not without an odd living situation and some serious consequences.
Relationships: Patrick Bateman/Jean, Patrick Bateman/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5





	1. An Exit?

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! just a thing I'm writing for my own self-indulgent reasons. Do I want Patty to be happy? Not necessarily. But these two deserve each other.

“No. There truly is no exit for Patrick Bateman. Not even the release of death would be a suitable exit. Of course I crave some fantastical way to fix my entire situation. Who doesn’t wish for a completely different set of circumstances from time to time? But this shallow excuse of a life is a bit too much to bear. Drugs can truly only do so much. Perhaps there is an exit, but that exit could cut me off entirely from everything. And I’m certainly not ready for a lifestyle change. I wouldn’t even think of turning into some stoned-out-of-his-mind hippie. My so-called peers would discredit any difference as something odd, something weird. And I most certainly don’t want to be perceived as such. 

I barely like to think deeply anymore, so that’s enough for tonight.

My eyes will close just as they hit the pillow, and I will drift off to sleep in my apartment. Good night.” 

The year was 1988 and Patrick knew his mental health was worsening as his goals for life were dwindling. He felt lost in the yuppie lifestyle, unable to crawl out of it no matter what he did. Perhaps this was just what he was meant to do, that this was how he was supposed to live his life. And there was nothing he felt he could do about it without upsetting anybody. Even his attempts at journaling and creative writing were not helping. Writing out that he’d sleep the moment he fell onto his bed did not help his sleep schedule nor did it make him sleep easier. It took a solid hour for him to sleep. 

And then he woke up. Well, he assumed it was just another normal day. However, as he stepped out of bed, he somehow felt less alien than usual; he didn’t believe he was kidnapped, but… that’s what seemed to have occurred. He woke up in a completely different bed in a place he didn’t recognize, sure, but it was a change of pace and a far better environment to be himself in. To be whisked off to somewhere hopefully far away was fantastical. 

The room was too extravagant for Patrick’s taste; it was old glamor, like the rich and famous’ tastes of years past, anywhere from the late 19th century to the middle of the 20th century. It was mostly black and white with hints of blue. 

“Hello?” He called out in an attempt to find someone around here. His voice echoed in his room. Not receiving an answer back, he decided to look around the room. Snooping around, however, was worth it when he found his entire wardrobe in a closet similar to his apartment’s own walk-in closet. However, he found absolutely no beauty and skin care products in the room. Such a shame, really. He resorted to stretching and limbering himself up in case he had to run or throw a punch. This was before he put on a button-up shirt, one of his perfectly tailored Valentino suits, and slipped on socks and Ferragamo shoes. His skin crawled at the thought of not showering before getting dressed, but he refused to shower without his products. 

“Hello?” He called out again as he opened the door. Bateman was greeted with a large hallway, and it was at this point he realized he found his way into a sprawling manor. Its interiors were very white, very unlike the manors he usually found himself in. That said, he rarely found himself in manors. There was a large window he could look out from at the end of the hall. He approached it and checked outside. It was raining, but wherever he was, it was in a lush, green area with quite a few evergreen trees. Beyond the few trees, he saw a slowly dying forest. This forest was only “dying”, however, because their leaves were slowly turning from green to a myriad of colors.

Bateman suddenly heard a muffled noise behind him. He quickly turned around only to see no one. Patrick didn’t want to call out again, but he felt like he was being watched. Something caught his eye; from far away, he saw the shine of something metallic. Slowly, he approached it. The closer he moved towards it the more he realized that it was a knife, and someone was holding it. 

Right as he was about to turn to face the person, the person jumped at him. Holding a knife to his neck, Patrick stared down at a pale person with long blond hair and eyes the color of sapphires. Did they have a beautiful face? Yes, but they could use some work on their nose, according to Patrick. It was upturned, sure, but the nostrils were rather large, and it reminded Patrick of a pig’s nose. That was the only noticeable flaw on the face, though. Patrick didn’t have a chance to study their body, as this person, presumably a man, led him closer to the window.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” The man asked.

“I-... excuse me? I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Patrick said, off guard. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” The man spat out, glaring at Patrick.

“I woke up here! Maybe if you weren’t fucking crazy, you’d remember!”

The man gasped and retorted, “Well! Maybe if YOU weren’t so ‘crazy’ YOU’D know why you’re here!”

“Ugh… that doesn’t-“

“What you told me doesn’t make sense either,” the man scoffed, “Who are you?”

“I’m… My name is Patrick Bateman, and I’m 27 years old. I live in-“

“I don’t need your whole life story, okay?” The man interrupted, then put his knife away. Patrick realized that the handle of the knife was covered with pink rhinestones.

“Are you a businessman?” The man asked.

“Yes, I specialize in mergers and acquisitions at Pierce and Pierce.”

“Pierce and Pierce? The investment firm?”

“What else?” Patrick asked, sounding terribly confused, then turned to irritation, “What else could that be?”

“Sorry, I don’t know a whole lot about economics. Buuuut what I do know is that that’s one of the many Wall Street… things?”

“Investment firms,” Patrick told him, looking at him with a frown.

“Yeah, those. They went bankrupt in 2009. Right?”

2009? Patrick stared at Pierre with a terrified expression. One can only hold in their worries for so long. 

“... and the current year is?” Bateman asked.

“Uh? It’s 2019,” the man told him, “Did you injure yourself?” The man stared at Patrick, and then widened his eyes a bit.

“Ohhh. Shit. My friend probably fucked you up and brought you here so he could lay low. You might have a concussion. Shit, did you sleep?”

“My head feels fine,” Patrick told the man, “I went to bed in my own apartment. When I woke up, I was here.”

“Fair. And you don’t have to have any bruises or cuts on you,” the man shrugged.

“Who are you?” Patrick asked.

“I’d like to get dressed before I introduce myself,” the man said, waving off Patrick, “Go ahead and make yourself at home.” Patrick noticed the red satin robe the man was wearing, and realized that he was rather fat. Well, if how large the robe was counted towards the observation, that is. Perhaps the man was only chubby. Patrick quickly walked down the stairs, taking no time to linger near that man. 

“What have I gotten myself into?” He murmured, holding his head as he looked around. More white walls, but the furniture was black and gold. Patrick took in a deep breath. What kind of person immediately threatened a stranger in their house with a knife? Perhaps a really dumb person or a really smart person. Patrick didn’t care how smart the man was, though. 

  1. **_2019_**. How did he stumble into the future? Was this an elaborate prank? And yet he knew it wasn’t when he saw a huge flat screen TV on his left. He turned to face it and studied this family room. The TV had to at least be 60 inches. 



“I just don’t get it,” he murmured some more, now running a hand through his hair. 

He was going to kill him. Patrick wanted to at least harm him. Patrick had plenty of advantages over this strange man. And then he’d call 911 and claim to have killed his kidnapper. Well, wasn’t that man actually a kidnapper? It’d be a true story, right? 

“You can turn on the TV if you like,” the man told him as he walked down the steps. Patrick quickly turned around to face him, and immediately frowned. This man’s long blond hair had been gently styled and his blue eyes still stuck out from his pale face, but he was wearing ankle boots with three-inch heels and neutral yet glamorous makeup. His outfit was otherwise to Patrick’s liking, even if he couldn’t name the designers they were from; a beige jacket with suit pants over a peach turtleneck. Patrick then squinted and saw a thin silver chain hanging very loosely around his neck. 

“You know, I only really wear shoes in the house when I’m about to go out, but I need to leave in about an hour or so,” the man told him and walked into the kitchen. Patrick quickly followed after him.

“What do you want with me?” He asked.

“Uhh, I don’t want anything from you? You’re the one who woke up here. Like I said. My friend probably brought you here,” the man turned away from the oatmeal he was making and spoke with an incredibly exasperated tone. Patrick took in a deep breath to calm himself down; freaking out over being in the future was not going to help him.

“...Who are you?” Patrick asked, changing the subject. 

“I guess you at least deserve that information,” he sighed, “My name is Pierre. Pierre Labelle.”

“What do you do, Pierre?” Patrick asked cautiously.

“Long story, I don’t really have the desire to answer that when I have PT soon.”

“Physical therapy?”

Pierre finished a bite of oatmeal, “Bingo. Byron wouldn’t place you with me unless he deemed you were safe with me or if I couldn’t handle you, so I can probably help you out after my appointment. Just stay here while I’m out. Although I might have to pick up some groceries afterward… no, I definitely have to get some groceries. In which case that’ll be too long for you to be here by yourself for now, so-“

Patrick groaned, “For fuck’s sake, I’ll go with you. And here I thought you wouldn’t be so indecisive like a woman. At least you put on makeup much quicker.” Pierre’s upper lip curled at those remarks. 

“... I’m going to kill Byron for placing you here,” he told Patrick, who looked smug, “At least if you go with me, we can talk to him together.” 

“Yeah, that way I can figure out why he placed me with a fag,” Patrick sneered, just deciding to say that for the hell of it. Pierre frowned and set down his oatmeal. He then pulled out the knife he had earlier. 

“Listen. I know you’re probably just trying to fuck with me. You’re probably scared and not sure where you are, and I get that. But if I’m letting you stay here and live in my home, you’re not gonna fuck with me all the time. We cool?”

“...We’re good,” Patrick replied, completely emotionless. 

“Great! Just don’t be a dick and I’ll happily help you. Do you need anything while we’re out?”

“Oh, you don’t even know,” Patrick laughed. And Pierre smiled, which put Patrick off guard. How could someone switch from being so threatening to… kind? Was that what Pierre was doing? Was his kindness an act? Or was he just being defensive?


	2. Byron

It was 6 pm by the time Pierre and Patrick were headed to Byron’s place. Pierre has been driving all day. 

“You really had to get all that stuff for your face?” Pierre asked.

“Please. At least it actually has benefits and just isn’t there to look good,” Patrick huffed. 

“Ha Ha. Very funny,” Pierre sarcastically replied. Some time passed before they talked again.

“What are you in physical therapy for?” Pat asked.

“Vertigo,” Pierre said, “I’m working on strengthening my shoulder and core muscles. After these last two appointments I scheduled I just have to work on the exercises at home.”

“How did you get vertigo?”

“Migraines. Really close to trying injections soon because absolutely zero preventive medicine has helped. I’ve had 9 migraines in the past two weeks.”

“Jesus,” Pat replied. 

“Yeah, it’s fucking ridiculous. I’m just so tired of it.”

“...Tell me: what’s your story?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“Sure, but… how does a person like you come to exist?”

“What?”

“What inspires you to be you? To not blend in?” 

“It’s not a matter of sticking out, it’s a matter of presenting myself in a way that doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I feel like I’m not me if I don’t wear makeup, and even more like a stranger if I don’t have long hair.”

“Well…”

“Is that not what you meant? I only assumed it was because-“

“No, no, that’s what I was talking about. So… you feel uncomfortable when you wear much more… masculine clothing? And when you have short hair?”

“Exactly. The last time I had short hair was when I was… nine? Maybe 10?” 

“Wow. So are you a f- are you gay?”

“Nice catch, Bateman,” Pierre laughed, “No?” 

“What? You like women?”

“Both.”

“Oh. You got a preference for one or the other?”

“Not really. Some bi people do, most really don’t. And you know, you’re pretty lucky that I’m cool with answering all your questions. I don’t necessarily owe you the answers to them.”

“...Right.”

“It’s like you’ve never interacted with someone who’s LGBTQ+ before,” Pierre huffed, smiling. 

“Oh, well… this one guy at work is totally gay,” Patrick told him. 

“How do you know that?”

“He confessed his feelings for me.”

“...Huh. Well… I hope you weren’t too rude to him, considering you’re you.”

“Oh, I probably was. And we’ve only known each other for about nine hours. Don’t get too cocky.” 

“Funny.”

“No, that wasn’t- ugh, you’re frustrating! Confusing! Are you nice or a dick? Because you’re either a really defensive nice person or a totally awful manipulative person! You’re just… ” Patrick yelled after ranting.

“I’m a dick,” Pierre shrugged, “I don’t know what has you so worked up.”

“Because you’ve been listening all day to me, and I’ve actually wanted to understand you!”

“... I take it that that’s not how they do things in New York?” Pierre laughed. 

“Well… I don’t know,” Pat told him, trying to calm down. He didn’t want to say that adjusting to a kinder, more tolerant yet terrifying future was scaring him, but it was. It all felt too complicated.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll understand life here in no time,” Pierre told him, looking away from the road to actually flash a white toothy grin his way, “You’re a smart kid. You’ve got this.” 

“Oh, gross, don’t. You’re only three years older than me,” Pat groaned. Pierre laughed as they pulled up to an expensive-looking modern house. 

“This is his place?” Pat asked, “Very nice.”

“Oh, I agree. He had this home especially built for him. It’s his dream home,” Pierre said with a smile as he stepped out. Pat followed after him. 

“Who exactly are we facing here?”

“Only my best friend in the world. He lives with our other friend. I think she’s still at work, though,” Pierre explained while unlocking the front door. 

“You have keys to each other’s homes?”

“Yeah. I bet you can’t really trust people like this in New York, huh?”

“Not really.” Pat watched Pierre step into the home before following him once again. 

“Byron,” Pierre called out, “I have a few questions for you.” The house’s modern interior showed no signs of life, save for a very cluttered coffee table. Pierre scoffed at it and started throwing out the trash on the table.Pat noticed the various cannabis paraphernalia, including a large bong near a large flat screen TV. He had to laugh at it. It was far too impractical. Once he heard footsteps, he stopped laughing. A tall pale goth with green eyes, black hair, and far too many piercings - according to Patrick Bateman - walked down the steps. He saw Patrick but heard Pierre mumbling about the mess. 

“You don’t have to clean up for me,” Byron told Pierre.

“I wouldn’t need to if you would just get off your ass and throw out garbage,” Pierre said with a glare, “Do you see this man? Where’s he from?” He gestured towards Patrick and Byron only studied him with squinted eyes. Byron looked over Patrick. 

“I’ve never seen this man in my life,” Byron said with a shrug.

“Are you getting high while taking out targets now?!” Pierre asked angrily. 

“No I’m not, fuck off,” Byron groaned, “I don’t know this dude!” 

“Then why was he in my house?? With clothing, too??” 

“I don’t know, ask him!” Byron shouted.

“I… I can’t fucking believe you! Of course I asked him first! And he fell asleep in his own apartment in New York. When he woke up, he was in one of my guest rooms!” 

“Okay, well… somebody must’ve dropped him off there,” Byron tried to explain.

“Jesus, Pierre, why are you friends with a dumb ass?” Patrick sighed and held his head. 

“So he can look smarter” Byron replied dryly, “Listen, you fucking bootlicker, say something like that again and I’ll deliver you in a bodybag back to your apartment myself, got it?” Patrick nodded, realizing that both of them, like him, were quick to threaten violence, whether jokingly or not. 

“Cool. Glad you understand that. Listen, P, he could have amnesia. He may have went through something traumatic. Just keep him at your place until he remembers enough to return to wherever the fuck he came from.” 

“Well, he’s not gonna remember anything if he stays at my place!” Pierre shot back. Patrick had to do something at this point. Should he reveal the truth? Or should he resign and just stay here to build a new life? 

“Listen,” Patrick said, trying to mediate the argument by putting his hands out. He was no stranger to being in the middle of arguments and making compromises from conflicts. Byron and Pierre looked at him. 

“I’ll stay at Pierre’s. I think if I’m meant to be here, I’m meant to be here. If I came here in about 8 hours or less, I’d say that it was faith.” 

“But why are you meant to be here?” Byron asked, questioning him. He, unlike Pierre, looked incredibly skeptical; Pierre had been grinning since Pat said he’d stay in the manor.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Pat said with an honest shrug. 

“...Fine,” Byron sighed. His doorbell rang and he quickly answered it. He came back with delivery from a pizza place. 

“Well, who ordered pizza? I sure could go for a slice!” Pierre said as he watched him walk to the kitchen, giggling. Byron laughed at this, and Patrick could only assume that this was a reference to something, but he certainly didn’t understand it. Patrick stood up and walked upstairs to snoop around and get away from the pizza. 

“Uh, hey buddy? Whatcha doin’?” Byron asked, but Bateman only ignored him. 

It was strange; Byron reminded Pat of that one goth “artist” that Evelyn used to be friends with. Or perhaps Evelyn’s friend was dating him. It didn’t matter to Patrick what the relation was, especially since he couldn’t remember the name of said goth. Byron was definitely bigger than that goth in both height and weight. 

Before this odd circumstance, Pat couldn’t have imagined himself spending time with people as fat as those two. Even now, he was technically trying to get away from them. And when something caught his eye, he felt much better about leaving them to chat with one another. 

A door that was labeled “If you enter, you will die”. Pat chuckled at this and tried to open the door. Keyword: tried. The handle didn’t budge. His brows furrowed as he continued to open the door. He gave up after about 30 minutes and ran into a big fat tabby cat. 

“Jesus, even the animals are fat,” Pat groaned at the cat blocking his path, her belly up in the air. But then, a lithe, young-looking black cat jumped atop her belly. The older tabby seemed mildly irritated by this. Pat smiled and kneeled down to pet the black cat. He slowly moved his hand towards the cat. As the black cat rubbed his head against his hand, Pat’s brain told him to grab the cat by the neck and end its life. He quickly stood up and backed up, spooking the black cat. The tabby only stared at him. Pat quickly stepped around her and made his way to a bathroom. He flipped on the light and quickly examined it. Nothing noteworthy. 

After some wandering, Pat found his way back to the dor that piqued his interest. He turned the knob and it actually opened this time. He quickly walked into the room and shut the door behind him. 

“Holy shit,” he said to nobody. Guns. So. Many. Guns. Guns of all types, of all models, of all colors. They were there in front of him. Pat approached a desk and read the papers on it without disrupting how they were messily placed. 

“A hitman,” Pat chuckled to himself, “Fun.” 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Pierre told him. Pat quickly whipped around to stare at him. 

“Byron will kill you,” Pierre laughed. Pat laughed and quickly approached him.

“Sure. I just didn’t want to eat that shit,” Bateman told Pierre. 

“What, the pizza? Oh, jeez, you’re just like Hattie.”

“...The girl you were talking about earlier, right? How does a man like Byron get a girl to live with him?”

“Well, she’s a woman, so… And it’s because they’re friends, like I said.” 

“Friends with a woman?” Pat snickered. 

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?” Pat teased. 

“You know god damn well what I mean, Patty.” 

“P-Patty? Ugh, nevermind. I’ll say what I want. This is America.”

“All you gotta do is say something about me being a faggot and everyone in this house will beat your ass.” 

“What, is that… ‘friend’ here?” 

“Yeah. She was complaining about Byron ordering food again.” 

“Huh. Well, she seems somewhat smart,” Pat shrugged before walking downstairs. Pierre quickly followed after him. Both of them heard Byron and Hattie having what sounded like a light argument. 

“Hattie, I didn’t order anything ‘healthy’ because I didn’t expect you to come home early,” Byron sighed, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. If I got a salad or a gluten free pizza from Domino’s it’d still be unhealthy. I’m good,” Hattie sighed, “But I thought  _ we  _ were trying to lose some weight?”

“ _ We _ were having a bad day,” Byron told her, “ _ We _ just want to try and live with some moderation?” Hattie scoffed at this.

“Byron…,” Hattie sighed, “I get that we’re not feeling the best but we shouldn’t be using food to cope? That’s what I used to do.” 

“I’m not!” Byron raised his voice, “I’m not doing that!! You know I don’t do that!” Pierre grabbed Pat’s arm and slowly backed away. 

“Alright, alright. Let’s go a bit slow with this,” Hattie said, putting her hands out, “It’s probably very stressful. I get that. I mean, you just started, but I’ve been doing this for a few years. We can ease up for a little while. I’m sorry I went off.” 

“You didn’t ‘go off’, I just… I don’t know, Hat. Things have just been a lot lately.” 

“You should really take a break.”

“Oh, it’s not that much. I just…”

“...It is that much, huh?” Hattie asked, “Seriously, babe… Take a break from your work. Both jobs.” Byron groaned loudly at this. 

“Come on, don’t complain about it. You need it.” 

“But I’m gonna be boreeeed…”

“We’ll go on vacation! How does that sound?”

“Only if you also take a break from work.”

“Of course!” Byron smiled at this.

“It’s a deal,” Byron said. Pierre and Pat had been listening the entire time.

“What’s with them?” Pat asked, “I mean, I think I completely understood their whole dynamic with that conversation alone, but-”

“It’s complicated,” Pierre said with a shrug, “They’re close is what I can tell you. Taken to one another but not necessarily dating?” 

“What?”

“I’ll explain it better some other time. We should probably go. I think they’re gonna fuck.” 

“What??? How does one fuck after that?” 

“Just… Let’s head out,” Pierre groaned.

“Fine by me. I’m tired of this melodrama bullshit. Got anywhere fun we can go?”

“Something that you’d like? Definitely.” 


End file.
